


pinstripes and high socks

by nervousbakedown



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 18:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11720226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervousbakedown/pseuds/nervousbakedown
Summary: just some bryzzo baseball uniform porn that no one asked for





	pinstripes and high socks

**Author's Note:**

> let's all agree to be chill and not let anyone in real life know this exists.

Anthony takes a step back so he can admire all 6-foot-5-inches of Kris from behind. He looks at the dark brown hair at the nape of his neck, the blue letters of his name stitched to the back of his white pinstripe jersey. Kris’ jersey is tucked into his matching baseball pants, which are nice and snug against his ass and thighs.

Reaching out and putting his hands on Kris’ hips, Anthony makes a dogwhistle-like noise and lets out a heavy sigh.

“Damn, baby. You’re even wearing high socks.”

Kris grins, preens back into his touch. Yes, Kris did wear high socks, because what else would he wear when they’re about to do this?

They talked about fucking in full uniform many times — in texts late at night, in hushed whispers after dinner. It seemed like a pipe dream, a fantasy that would have to stay a fantasy.

But after winning an away game in St. Louis by way of a dramatic walk-off, they snuck off to a supply closet and decided it was time to fulfill their wishes.

“Of course,” Kris replies. His hands are on the table as he stands there, his back to Anthony.

“Well, we better get to it, don’t you think,” Anthony pauses to drop a wet kiss to the side of Kris’ neck. “Don’t want anyone to get suspicious.”

“Mhmm,” Kris agrees. 

Kris turns and watches Anthony the best he can, watches him gets his hands on Kris’ belt. Once it’s undone, the baseball pants unzip easily, and Anthony brings his hands around to the back right above Kris’ ass, grabs onto the waistband.

“You want them down just enough to fuck you, right?” Anthony asks.

Kris nods. “Yeah.”

“God,” Anthony sighs, “That’s so fucking hot.”

And so Anthony eases Kris’ pants down just past his ass, revealing his compression boxer briefs underneath. Anthony does the same thing for those. He inches his fingers past the fabric and feels Kris’ soft skin against his fingertips, then pushes them down to the top of Kris’ thighs.

At the same time Anthony pushes Kris forward with one hand, he reaches for the underside of his thigh with the other. He coaxes Kris into raising his leg up, one knee resting on the table. Kris lets out a breath and cranes his neck back to look again, hopelessly curious. 

He can see his leg still completely clothed in his uniform, feel the pants going taut where his thighs are spread. Kris eyes where the pinstriped pants stop at the knee, the Cubs-blue high socks and his favorite cleats. He’s still wearing his jersey and longsleeved undershirt, which are hanging a little long in the back now that they’re untucked.

It’s exactly what he wanted.

Kris hears Anthony undo his own pants, unzip them, get his cock out. He then hears some rustling, and the next thing he knows Anthony is spreading his ass apart with both hands and licking around his asshole.

“Oh my god,” Kris gasps. He puts his palms flat on the table while Anthony works him open. Kris moans when he finally wriggles his tongue inside, a strangled sound from deep in his throat.

Anthony pulls away after a moment or two. “Fuck, Kris. So easy for me. You must be really excited for this.”

All Kris ends up responding with is another moan. He hangs his head, relaxes his neck and shoulders while Anthony gets back to rimming him. It isn’t long before Anthony stands back up and puts a hand at Kris’ hip.

“I forgot we fucked last night,” Anthony says, his voice deep and breath hot in Kris’ ear. “I think you’re ready, babe.”

Kris moans at the term of endearment, twists his torso again so he can see Anthony. Anthony leans forward and kisses him at the odd angle, all tongue.

Last night was great, but it wasn’t a big-kinky-deal like this is. Kris feels the excitement in his belly, his cock already fully hard, his cheeks blushing uncontrollably. 

After lazily disconnecting their kiss, Anthony lifts up the back of Kris’ jersey, lines up his cock, and pushes in. 

“Fuck,” Anthony curses, drawing the word out. Kris doesn’t say anything, just turns himself forward again and tries to relax. It’s a little tighter of a fit than he expected, but still so hot and feels so right he doesn’t care about the slight burn of pain.

One hand on Kris’ hip, Anthony starts shallow thrusts in and out. Kris can feel himself opening up more; he arches his back and moans, his way of encouraging Anthony and telling him he can take it.

“This is the best idea you’ve ever had,” Anthony says. 

Kris smiles, wondering what this looks like to Anthony. He imagines he looks pretty slutty like this, fully clothed in his sweaty baseball uniform that he just played a game in. He certainly feels that way.

Anthony moves his hands, puts one at Kris’ hip and the other is on his thigh that’s raised up. He drags his fingers along the underside of Kris’ thigh. Kris moans and sighs, throwing his head back. They’ve barely started and he’s already overwhelmed.

It’s even worse once Anthony is fully buried inside Kris, when he snaps his hips forward even faster. Kris tries to turn and look at Anthony the best he can. A few moments pass; he groans and resigns to look forward, sinks down to his elbows.

“Fuck,” Kris says. It’s a little embarrassing how desperate he sounds, all high-pitched and whiny, but he can’t help it.

“Mmm, so fucking hot,” Anthony moans. Both hands on Kris’ hips, he grips hard and digs his nails in, practically pulling Kris back on his cock on the offset of every thrust. 

Soon, Kris gets tired of holding himself up. He relaxes completely, chest against the table, his head turned to the side. He lies there and takes it. He tries to control how loud he’s moaning, because the last thing they need is to get caught. Kris alternates between pursing his lips and biting down on his bottom one so hard he almost bleeds.

Kris is about ready to announce he’s close to coming when Anthony slows to a stop and pulls out. He coaxes Kris into standing up and turning around so that they’re facing each other. Kris can’t help but smirk when he sees Anthony’s face, the intense look in his brown eyes. Brimming with affection, Kris leans forward and kisses Anthony, wrapping his arms loosely around his neck.

Anthony licks into Kris’ mouth for awhile before forcing them both to separate. He pushes Kris’ pants the rest of the way down his legs, signaling Kris to step out of them. Kris only ends up stepping out of one leg, the other gets caught on his left cleat. He doesn’t have time to fix it before Anthony wraps his arms around Kris’ waist and hauls him up onto the table, nudges his legs apart, and quickly slides right back inside him.

“Oh my god,” Kris moans, completely overwhelmed once again. With his arms still around Anthony’s neck, he pulls him in closer. 

They make eye contact while Anthony trails a hand down Kris’ leg. He starts at his thigh, travels to where his blue high socks start at the knee, and eventually closes his grip on Kris’ calf. Anthony pushes Kris’ leg back in an effort to keep his legs spread apart wide.

One leg of Kris’ baseball pants is still caught on his left shoe. Eventually, Anthony takes the time to ease it off. Kris watches Anthony’s careful hands hold his ankle and foot, then watches his pants fall to the floor. Anthony gets his hands back on Kris’ thighs and urges him close again, sliding his cock deeper inside him. Thinking about how perfect they fit together, Kris sucks in a breath through his teeth and wraps his legs around Anthony’s waist. His feet feel heavy with his cleats still on; his high socks feel interesting pressed against the smooth fabric of Anthony’s Cubs jersey.

Kris feels a shiver down his spine when Anthony grits out a deep “fuck” and tells Kris that he’s about to come. He roughly fucks into Kris a few more times before pulling out, strokes his cock until he’s coming across Kris’ jersey-clad chest. 

Kris groans at the sight and does the same, fisting his own cock until he comes with a shout. He leans forward and kisses Anthony, lets him support all his weight, feeling absolutely boneless. He lets his legs hang from the table again and nuzzles Anthony’s neck. Anthony rubs a soothing hand down Kris’ back. His fingers trace the number 17 on the back of Kris’ jersey. Kris blushes, reminded of what they’ve just done.

“Best idea ever,” Anthony says again, reading Kris’ mind.

“Definitely.”


End file.
